Silent Scream (26 page)

“Well, I’m Louise, but not Mrs. Tomlinson for much longer,” she said.

“I’m Detective Sutherland and this is my partner, Detective Kane. We’re here to talk to you about your husband.”

Louise’s perfectly tweezed brows lifted. “What has he done now?”

“He’s dead, ma’am,” Olivia said. “He was murdered tonight.”

Quite unexpectedly, Louise Tomlinson’s haughty expression slid away. Growing pale, her mouth dropped open. “He’s dead? Barney’s
dead? No.” Not waiting for an answer, she began to weep. She lowered her chin to
her chest, hugged herself as she stood in the doorway and wept her heart out.

“Can we come in, ma’am?” Olivia asked.

Louise allowed herself to be led to a sofa in an ornately decorated living room, where she sank into the cushions, her face
in her hands. “How did this happen?”

“He was shot while he was in his warehouse.”

Louise looked up, her eyes wild. “He didn’t kill himself, did he?”

“It doesn’t appear so, ma’am,” she answered. “Why?”

“He was so angry with me. Very upset. I’d had our assets frozen.”

“We heard that you two were going through a messy divorce,” Olivia said quietly.

“We were. He cheated on me.”

“That had to make you angry,” Kane said smoothly.

Louise’s wet eyes flashed. “Of course it did. We’d been married for almost thirty years. I wanted him alive to suffer, not
dead. Am I a suspect?”

“Right now we’re just talking to people who knew your husband,” Olivia said. “But just so we can check you off our list, where
were you tonight?”

“Here. Alone.”

“Was Mr. Tomlinson living here?”

“No. He had an apartment downtown near the university. Our son is a student there and lives in the dorm. Oh God, I have to
tell him his father’s dead.”

Olivia put a gentle hand on the woman’s wrist. “We’d like to tell him.”

Louise turned stark white. “You think my son had something to do with this?”

“I think it would be best if you’d come with us, until
we can get this all sorted out.” Olivia stood. “I’ll go up with you while you change your clothes.”

Tuesday, September 21, 2:35 a.m.

“Well?” Abbott asked.

Olivia stood at the window looking into Interview Two and shook her head. Louise Tomlinson sat at the table, numb. Her lawyer
patted her hand from time to time.

“She was angry with her husband and she stands to benefit financially from his death and the fire,” Olivia said. “But unless
she paid somebody to kill him, I don’t think she was involved. No gunshot residue on her hands. The neighbors we talked to
didn’t see her leave her house. The engine of her car was cold. None of that is definitive innocence, but at this moment we
can’t place her at the scene.”

“The son’s in Interview One,” Kane added. “He was at a party all night. At least fifty people saw him. No GSR on his hands
either.”

“Then cut them loose,” Abbott said. “Find out who had cause to kill Tomlinson, besides his wife and son. Find out how they
connect to the condo. See you at oh-eight.”

Olivia shot Abbott’s back a baleful look. “Why is it always oh-eight?”

“Go home, Liv,” Kane said kindly. “Get some sleep.”

“I will, after we talk to the Tomlinsons. I’m hoping if I talk sweetly enough, she’ll hand over the copy she
made of her husband’s hard drive. Otherwise we have to go to the IT guy, and he’ll want a warrant.”

“You think you can sweet-talk her after hauling her ass downtown?” Kane asked.

Olivia raised a brow. “I got ten that says I can.”

Kane smiled sharply, sensing an easy win. “You’re on.”

Olivia took a minute, putting herself in the mind of the older woman. Her grief had been real, as had her rage. She’d been
entitled to both. Unless of course she paid someone to do her dirty work for her, but if that was the case, they’d find a
money trail.

“Mrs. Tomlinson,” Olivia said when she’d closed the door behind her.

Tomlinson’s lawyer jumped to his feet. “How long will you keep her here?”

“Not much longer,” Olivia said. “Your son is coming. I’d like to talk to you both.”

Louise glared. “I don’t want to talk to you. You treated me like a criminal.”

Olivia sat across from her. “No, ma’am. I was doing my job, as respectfully as I knew how. I’m so sorry that your husband
is dead. I can’t pretend to know how you’re feeling right now, but I work homicide. My responsibility is to your husband.
I have to find who killed him. I hope you and your son want the same thing.”

Louise swallowed, her lips thin. “You fingerprinted me. You fingerprinted my son.”

“So we could tell your prints from anyone else’s in his office or his apartment. It’s standard procedure. Again, I’m sorry
this had to happen tonight, but every hour that passes is an hour his killer goes free.”

Still pale, Louise closed her eyes. “Someone shot him.”

“Yes, ma’am. It looks like he was at his desk, working. He was shot from behind.”

Louise flinched, then snapped her gaze to the door when her son entered. He looked even angrier than his mother had. He folded
his mother in his arms and she began to cry again. Seth Tomlinson glared at Olivia. “How dare you?”

“Please,” Olivia said. “Please sit down.”

Still furious, Seth did, taking his mother’s hand protectively. “It’s bad enough we have to go through this.”

“You’re right,” Olivia said and Seth narrowed his eyes.

“You’re the good cop. Where’s the bad cop?”

Olivia returned his furious gaze with a sympathetic one. “Right here in this chair. I can be either or both, depending on
who’s sitting in your chair. I need your help.”

“No,” Seth said. “I’m not helping you.”

“You’re entitled to your anger and your frustration. Right now, I need you to be angry at the person who put a bullet in the
back of your father’s head. The fire destroyed a lot of the things we’d normally look for—signs of a struggle, for example.
Signs that someone forced their way into his office. Did he know his killer? Or was he simply in the wrong place at the wrong
time? Did he keep money in his office?”

Louise shook her head. “No. None of our sales transactions were cash. All of our customers paid by check or bank transfer.
Anything Barney had in the office was strictly for personal use, and he was running short. I’d made sure of that.”

“Mom,” Seth said in a low voice, but she patted his arm.

“She’s doing her job, Seth. I imagine she’ll look at my finances to be sure I didn’t hire a hit man.” Louise looked Olivia
dead in the eye. “I didn’t. I wouldn’t know how.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Olivia said. “You still loved him.”

“Yes. He hurt me, so badly. But I never could have taken his life.”

“Who could have?”

Louise looked lost. “I don’t know. You’d need to talk to Lloyd Hart, our manager. He knew all the customers.”

“I did talk to him, for just a little while. He was pretty worried about his dog.”

“Bruno,” Louise murmured. “Did they hurt the dog, too?”

“Drugged him. There’s a chance he’ll make it. Mr. Hart said that the employees didn’t care for your husband.”

“That’s not true,” Seth bit out, but once again his mother patted his hand.

“Yes, it is.” She turned to Olivia. “It wasn’t always like that. Barney used to know everyone’s name. He made sure everyone
had benefits, pensions. As he got more successful, he changed. We had warehouses in three states and he started to travel.
Buy fancy cars.” She lifted her chin. “Fancy women, too, even though I didn’t know it then. He wasn’t the man I married anymore.
Then business started to go down and Barney got scared. And mean. We were fighting all the time.”

“No, you weren’t,” Seth protested. “Mom.”

“We didn’t fight in front of you. We didn’t want you
to know.” She turned to Olivia. “I hadn’t paid attention to the business in a long time. When I found out about Barney’s affair,
I made copies of all his files. I wanted my lawyer to have as much ammunition as possible.”

“Do you still have the copied files?” Olivia asked.

“On a couple of CDs, yes.”

“The fire destroyed so much. We could get started so much faster if we knew who to investigate.”

Louise looked at her attorney who gave a little shrug. “It’s up to you, Weez. I’ve seen the files. There isn’t anything on
them that you haven’t already told them.”

“They’re in my fire box at home.” Louise’s lips twisted. “Ironic, no?”

Olivia sighed. “We get a lot of sad irony in this business. I know you’re tired, but a few more questions, please. How did
you find out about your husband’s infidelity?”

“I hired a private investigator. One of my friends had gone through something similar, so I met her for lunch and somehow
found the courage to ask for the name of her PI, and I hired her. She had incriminating photos in less than a week. I was
devastated.” She swallowed hard. “I went into Barney’s office the next day when I knew he’d be out playing golf and copied
the files. Then I filed for divorce that afternoon.”

Seth was studying his mother’s worn profile. “Can we go now? She’s helped you.”

“Yes, she has and yes, you can go. Mrs. Tomlinson, thank you. I’ll personally keep you updated on the investigation. Can I
take you home?”

“I’ll take care of them,” the lawyer said. “You’ll want those CDs tonight, I take it?”

Olivia flicked a glance at the clock on the wall. It
was almost three a.m. Surely the warehouse had cooled enough for her and Kane to see Barney in his office now. “That would
be ideal. My partner and I will follow you home.” Then she and Kane could double back to the crime scene.

Olivia found Kane in the observation room, a ten-dollar bill in his hand. “Nice.”

“Keep it. She was going to help us all along. You ready to roll?”

“Yep. I’ll drive. You can nap on the way.”

Tuesday, September 21, 3:58 a.m.

The three of them sat in Eric’s living room, watching the muted television. It was tuned to the local twenty-four-hour news
station, as it had been for the last day. Mary sat curled in the corner of the sofa, her expression like stone. Albert sat
in an armchair, looking like the very angry captain of a starship.

Eric straddled a dining room chair backward, his chin propped on the chair’s carved back, having just been snapped at by Albert
to stop pacing and sit his ass down.

“Turn it up,” Mary said flatly and Albert grabbed the remote.

“Top of the news this hour is another fire, this time in a warehouse north of the city,” the anchor said. “News 8 has just
learned that not only is it another arson fire, but also police have found another body inside.”

Shock had Eric surging to his feet. “What the fuck?” he yelled.

Albert leaned forward, waving his arm. “Shut up.”

Mary sat up straighter, her expression gone flatter, if that was possible.

“The body has been identified as Barney Tomlinson, the owner of the warehouse,” the anchor said, and a photo of a middle-aged
man with a comb-over appeared on screen. “We have Joseph Bradshaw live at the scene. Joseph, what are you hearing?”

The screen switched to the reporter, a fire truck in the background. “The fire is out, but the activity here at the fire site
has not slowed. Homicide detectives and medical examiners went into the building twenty minutes ago and have not yet come
out. No one is giving any details of the circumstances surrounding Barney Tomlinson’s death, but the presence of Homicide
suggests the owner of this warehouse met with foul play.”

“Joseph,” the anchor said, “is anyone indicating a link to the condo fire?”

“Not yet, but the homicide detectives who just went in are the same ones who were on the condo scene—Kane and Sutherland.”

Albert muted the television. “So this is his game,” he said darkly. “He murders and sets us up to take the fall.”

“We destroyed the tape,” Eric said. “We wore masks. Nobody will know it was us.”

Albert’s chuckle was without mirth. “Do you truly think so,
mon ami
? I give him five minutes, perhaps ten. He’ll send you another text with another link to another video.”

It was less than two minutes. Eric’s personal cell phone buzzed. He checked the text and flicked a glance at Albert. “It says
‘welcome to my employ.’”

“And the video?” Mary asked, her voice barely a whisper.

Eric clicked the link. “It’s us,” he said when the video began playing. “We’re wearing masks.” He watched as the texter’s
camera closed in on Mary as she looked back to check on the drugged dog. Then the screen filled with a still shot of Mary’s
face, covered by the mask. Successive shots closed in on Mary’s right eye until her iris was all that could be seen, then
the video cut to a picture of Mary at the condo. Again the camera closed in, again the close-up of her iris.

Eric didn’t even blink when he saw himself pause to snap a photo of the burning warehouse. “He was there,” he said woodenly
and passed the phone to Albert. “He’s basically saying he can put Mary at both scenes through her eyes.”

Albert replayed the video, his jaw going taut. “Where was he? Goddammit.”

“He got Mary when she stopped to see the dog, so he had to have been hiding to our left.” Eric sank onto the sofa, opposite
Mary. “This is unbelievable.”

“This isn’t what I planned,” Mary said thinly. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell us, Eric. You had no right to keep this from
us.”

“I said I was sorry.”

“Sorry doesn’t help. If you had any idea…” She closed her eyes. “Damn you.”

“Another text,” Albert said, then drew a sharp breath. “It’s Tomlinson. Or what’s left of him.” He passed the phone back and
Eric flinched.

Tomlinson lay facedown on his desk. There was a helluva lot of blood.

Eric passed his phone to Mary and waited for her to watch the video. “So now what?”

“We draw him out,” Mary said coldly. “And then we kill the sonofabitch.”

Albert raised a sarcastic brow. “I thought you said you couldn’t kill anyone.”

“I was wrong,” she said. “The game just changed.”

“That’s all well and good,” Eric said, “but as I said before, now what?”